


Whiskey and Sorrow

by thenakednymph



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I think...I know she gets teary eyed in there somewhere too, I wanted them to have more of a moment okay, aaaaaangst, after the plane crash, alcohol makes her moody, and this happened, let's see...Sherry goes from depressed to surly to giggly?, so I got Sherry drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: Jake finds a bottle of abandoned whiskey in the cabin and learns more about Sherry than he expected.
Alternatively: Drunk Sherry likes to overshare.





	Whiskey and Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> This could probably do with another pass for editing but the fandom is so dead I thought we could use a shot of adrenaline. So I'm posting it early. 
> 
> If you catch any problems shoot me a comment and the error. Please and thank! 
> 
> Enjoy!

 “Want some?” Jake slid down the wall of the little cabin to sit beside Sherry, offering her a drink. She seemed to hesitate before reaching for the bottle.

“Sure there isn't anything else?” she asked and Jake shook his head. “Damn.” She raised the bottle to her lips and downed more of the whiskey than Jake had been expecting, leaving him somewhere between concerned and impressed. She made a face and passed him the bottle.

“I hate scotch,” she mumbled, more to herself than to him, and closing her eyes. If it had been any other day, if she hadn't just been almost cut in half she wouldn't have taken the proffered drink. But it hadn't been any other day. Surviving always left her feeling hollow and monstrous and she knew the alcohol wouldn't help, but she couldn't help wishing it would fill the void.

After the rush through the snow and the frigid cold, the heat of the fire they'd managed to build was welcome. Almost as much as the bottle of whiskey Jake had managed to dig up, but not quite. The whiskey felt thick in her mouth and soured her stomach but drunk was better than sober.

Something deep in her chest still throbbed, reminding her of where she'd taken the piece of plane through her spine, nearly crushing her heart. She was surprised it hadn't. But she wasn't sure even that would have been enough to kill her. Nothing else had.

The chunk of debris hadn't gone deep enough to pin her to the ground, but it had paralyzed her, however briefly, severing her spine. She'd felt nothing from the waist down, not even pain, just knew something was wrong. Sherry wasn't sure what frightened her more, that the metal had paralyzed her...or that it hadn't lasted.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, chaffing at them through her thick coat as if to drive away the thought. Not that it ever worked. What she wouldn't give to feel human, just for a moment.

As if sensing something was wrong Jake passed her back the bottle but still wouldn't meet her gaze, was careful to keep their fingers from brushing. He was frightened of her. She knew he was. They all were. She wrapped her hand around the neck of the whiskey and took a heavy pull before setting it on the floor between them. Mostly to keep from downing the entire thing, or to mark the space between them. Drowning her sorrows in a bottle never helped. She'd learned that the hard way. Not that it stopped her from trying. She supposed there were worse addictions to have.

Jake spun the bottle idly, watching the liquid slosh around inside the glass, the warm amber catching the flickering light of the fire.

“Is that gonna happen to me?” The sound of his voice surprised Sherry, even through the warm haze of the whiskey.

Sherry abruptly realized she could smell blood and the wood paneling of the wall was cold against the bare skin of her back through the gaping hole in her jacket. Unable to stand it she yanked off the coat, tossing it aside and reaching for the bottle again. She tried not to look at the jacket but failed. It drew her eyes like a moth to a flame and she couldn't make it stop. Her hand was shaking.

“No.” Her voice was tight, her eyes locked on the mangled, blood-stained fabric. It was all too familiar and she couldn't stand it. She tried to drown out the smell with the whiskey. “Your mutation isn't the same as mine.” Tears pricked at her eyes and she ground her teeth, her knuckles white around the bottle. “I think you're only carrying the antibodies, a cure, not...whatever I am.”

“You _think?”_ Jake's voice was colored with horror.

“Well I don't know Jake,” she snapped, her expression stormy. Whiskey always made her surly. “Do you want me to cut your arm off and see if it grows back?” She wasn't sure what she was expecting but it wasn't the look of fear and dawning realization that crossed Jake's features. He looked sick. Sherry turned away so she wouldn't have to look at him.

“Is that what they did to you?” he rasped and Sherry pursed her lips. She didn't want to talk about.

“Among other things.” She licked her lips. “It doesn't seem real some days,” she mumbled, staring down at her hands, studying them as if she didn't recognize them. “You want to know the stupid thing?” she whispered, not really wanting an answer. “I actually understood why they were doing it.” Her fingers curled into loose fists, her gaze drifting. “I still do. I hate them for it.” Her voice tightened with anger for a moment before she sagged again, as if unable to muster the strength for her rage. “But I understand.” She lapsed into silence, caught up in the memories the whiskey was supposed to drown. It was supposed to keep her afloat, not leave her to drown. But maybe some people can't be saved.

The thought left her wincing.

“How old do you think I am?” she asked softly, her head hanging heavy on her shoulders.

Jake glanced around the room, trying not to stare at her. “How old do I think you are or how old do you look?” Jake hedged and Sherry shrugged one shoulder.

“Same difference.”

“Not really,” he drawled. “Because you  _look_ like you're sixteen, but you drink like you're thirty.” 

Sherry smiled, all lopsided and watery, her head lolling to the side to look at him. “Did you know I don't think I can die?” Everything felt fuzzy around the edges, soft, warm and blurry.

“What do you mean you can't die?”

Anger flared like a spark from a flint, rage bubbling up in a flash. 

“I mean I can't die!” She gestured wildly. “Look at me!” She held one hand up, her eyes dark with anger and self-loathing. “I have had every part of my hand, my arm, removed, one joint at a time, just so the doctors could see if I could grow it back. I have lost every possible part of my body for  _science,”_ she hissed. “And I don't have a single scar.” Tears seared down her cheeks and her voice shook. “I don't have one single scar and that's stupid and it shouldn't matter but it does because it was  _real_ damn it. It happened and it happened to me-” She dissolved into tears, burying her face in her knees. She wanted to scream. “God why can't they let me die,” she gasped, struggling to draw a breath, her heart hammering. It felt like someone had put an anvil on her chest and she couldn't breathe. 

“Sherry...shit.” Jake scooted closer, his hands finding her arms and pulling her upright. “Breathe super-girl, you're hyperventilating.”

Sherry struggled to calm down, but her head was spinning, fear strangling her.

“Cup your hands and put them over your mouth.” He took her hands, guiding them and Sherry did as he said, breathing into her palms, Jake's hands holding hers by the wrists.

It took several minutes but she was finally able to breathe normally. Her cheeks were flushed with alcohol and embarrassment when she finally lowered her hands, swallowing thickly.

“Now I remember why I don't drink,” she groaned, covering her face. “Fuck,” she swore, burying her face against her knees so she didn't have to look at him. “Sorry. I didn't mean to drop that on you,” she mumbled. “Drinking makes me emotional.”

Jake shrugged, shifting his weight beside her, righting the bottle he'd spilled in his concern. He scratched at the floor with a nail, finally taking the bottle and finishing it off, tossing it aside, not sure if he needed it or because he wanted to make sure Sherry didn't. He didn't even know why he cared.

“How old are you?” he ventured, not sure he wanted to know.

Sherry sighed, her head thunking back against the wall, her shoulder brushing against Jake's. “Twenty-six.”

“Bullshit.” It was a knee-jerk response that seemed to surprise them both. Sherry blinked at him in surprise. “You can't be twenty-six...” When she didn't argue Jake's eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?” Jake sat back with a laugh, not sure what else to do. “Well damn girl, you look good.”

Sherry reached for the bottle before she realized it wasn't there, her hand flopping uselessly to the floor, bumping up against Jake's. “Part of the virus.” A thought seemed to strike her and she looked up at him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Something flickered in Sherry's eyes and Jake thinks it might be sympathy but she ducks her head and he isn't sure.

“Damn,” she mumbled, her fingers idly tracing out a knot in the floor. A heavy breath leaves her and she seems to sink further into the wall. “Damn.” The word leaves her on a long breath and she looks broken. “When they take your blood...” she began slowly. “Don't let them keep you okay?”

Jake sobered. “Is that something you think they'd do?”

Sherry shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe. Just promise me you won't let them.” She looked up at him with watery eyes. “I couldn't live with myself knowing I was the one who brought you in if they just turned around and made you a lab rat.” She shook her head. “No one deserves that.”

Jake struggled to find a response, but couldn't think of one. He shifted his weight on the hardwood floor, groping for a subject. “I'll take first watch. Try to get some rest.”

Sherry's smile is lopsided and wry, but she makes no move to get up. “You do know second shift gets the least amount of sleep right?” she asked, a low note of teasing in her voice.

“All right, then I'll take second.” He moves to stand but Sherry waves her hand through the air, the movement rolling longer than necessary, as if she can't get it to stop.

“Nah,” she drawled, her eyes slipping closed. “I'd be useless to you right now.” She tried to stand a moment later but sinks back down to the floor, a lopsided grin spreading across her face and she giggled. “You know, on second thought, I think I'll sleep right here.”

Jake shakes his head at her, a laugh caught in his chest. “Suit yourself super-girl,” he says and if it comes out fond Sherry doesn't mention it. “I'll wake you for your shift.” He resists the urge to ruffle her hair, but just barely.


End file.
